Craigslist: A Love Story
by theps118confessional
Summary: Arnold had known it the entire night, but somehow sitting in the bathtub, dry and in his clothing, staring at her, glitter in her hair, made it truly settle over him. They really were complete strangers. Something about Helga gave him the feeling he had known her his entire life, but the fact remained at the core: they barely knew each other. A Craigslist(?)!AU
1. Chapter 1

_a/n_

 _this was supposed to be a oneshot and i am taking the living form of the knife emoji bc now it...isn't. i hate giant pieces of exposition so i didn't do that so here it is: basically in this universe what happened in ha! hasn't happened & arnold grew up somewhere else. that's basically all you need to know. this general idea has been floating around the internet for half of ever, and i would link it if i could but ff hates links & smiley faces for some reason so basically google thanksgiving craigslist & you'll get the gist. it's just such a shortaki au i couldn't resist. just a warning: i do not recommend actually pulling this stunt. nor do i recommend trying 90% of the things in my fics...theyre all generally bad ideas._

 _without further ado:_

* * *

"Phoebe," Helga used her foot to slam shut her refrigerator door. "I really, like, genuinely," she shoved the slice of pizza she retrieved in her mouth, being careful not to drop the can of beer cradled in the crook of her arm, "appreciate the offer…"

"No, no-" Helga stopped walking to refute her best friend, "no, I am not being sarcastic, no that was not _snide_ -"

"Tell me, then," Phoebe stopped Helga mid-sentence. Helga took the time to meander back around the corner to her couch. She flopped over sideways onto it, making a mental note to wait to open the beer. "What were you gonna say next?"

"…nothing." Helga mumbled, chewing loudly.

"Helg-"

"Okay, fine, maybe I was gonna tell you that I'd literally rather take the the contents of Weird Gary's freezer and thaw them out while simultaneously marinating them in mustard and then blend it up and drink it at Rhonda's engagement party than go with you to Gerald's for Christmas, but I didn't actually say it, did I?"

"Helga, you just said i-"

"What is this, a murder investigation?" Helga set her beer on the table, staring at whatever she was streaming through ChromeCast…currently, it was season two of Degrassi. She didn't know why- she just liked the colors.

"What? Ugh-" Phoebe groaned. Helga grinned, a small one, because Phoebe couldn't actually see her, and took another bite of pizza.

"Stop grinning," Phoebe told her flatly, and Helga grinned harder. "And be nice to me, because I am just worried about your patterns of socialization since moving to Seattle, because you aren't exactly-"

"a charmer?" Helga snorted, chewing loudly.

"No!" Phoebe insisted, "Outgoing."

"Please Phoebs," she cracked open her beer, "I'm a regular social butterfly." She switched up the volume of Degrassi on her T.V. "See?" She took another sip, "I've got friends over right now."

"Helga, do you remember we binge watched Degrassi together one summer before binge-watching was even a thing? We didn't leave my basement for three weeks! And I'd know that episode anywhere."

Her roommate then chose to bust open through her front door. Becky had her hair piled on top of her head, and boots that went over her knees. She was also wearing an outfit that could resemble Marilyn Monroe's iconic look, if Marilyn Monroe was a prostitute who got lost in Cabo.

Helga raised her eyebrows at her, "rough night?" she mouthed at Becky.

Becky, the former stripper with two porcupines, one named Watson and the other Roberta, held up a middle finger and stomped her way to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Helga laughed. She picked her to live with as a laugh and to annoy her parents and she was still just as funny.

"Helga, have you even been listening to me?"

"Yes, baby." She drawled into her phone as if Phoebe were her girlfriend. Which- she wasn't but she kind of was. They were just a little bit married, no big deal.

"So you'll do it?"

"Yes, I will. I promise." Just as married people did, she made a promise she had no intention of keeping.

"Okay- but I'm serious, by next week or I will buy you a ticket. I have to go now because Gerald's poking me, and he sends his love, so I will talk to you-"

"Tell him to shove his love up his-"

"I am hanging up now bye!"

"Gerald she's chEATING ON YOU WITH A SWAGGERING GOLDFISH NAM-" Helga shouted into the receiver until the clear buzz that the call ended came through. Which was a damn shame she got cut off, because the goldfish's name was Jezebel.

"HELGA-" a large bang on her wall, "SHUT THE FUCK UP," Helga turned around and saw that Becky had thrown a vintage candelabra at her. Where she even got that, Helga had no idea.

* * *

Helga was laying on her bedspread, laptop on her tummy and doritos crumbs…everywhere. She knew Phoebe was somewhat right- plans for Christmas certainly couldn't hurt. She certainly didn't actually have the funds to fly home, and Phoebe's parents paying for it would be mortifying. And she had convinced her own parents she build an empire off of Vine so they'd leave her the hell alone and also stop inviting her to piano recitals. All piano songs sounded the same, in fact, she wasn't entirely convinced Olga hadn't learned like…12 thirty second pieces and just played them in different patterns. No one would be the wiser- certainly not Helga, anyway.

But really, plans wouldn't be that awful. Not that Thanksgiving wasn't a real hoot, watching the Real Housewives and then going to the bar at Midnight for an opening shift of watching rich men drink away the sorrows of whatever damage their wife was doing to their credit card bills.

She could have a date if she really wanted a date, but that felt a little bit like letting Phoebe win. So, she groaned, and continued to watch the Housewives tear down one of the daughter's new boyfriends. He had a tattoo, which basically meant she plucked him off the mean streets of Detroit. Helga rolled her eyes- the horror of abnormality in suburban America, _God_ forbid.

And then she had the idea.

 _It's Christmas. Want to skip that long, insulting conversation about how youre still single? About how your parents really want more grand children? Well, look no further!_

 _I am a 24 year old felon with pink hair, and a dirty old truck one year younger than me painted with a guns n roses theme done by 16 year olds. i have a tattoo under my tit & can be as trashy as you want & can play anywhere between the ages of 20 and 29 depending on eyeliner. if you give enough notice, i might be able to get the unibrow to grow in. I'm a technical writer and work late nights at a bar. If you'd like to have me as your strictly platonic date for Christmas, but have me pretend to be in a very long or serious relationship with you, to torment your family, I'm game. _

_I can do these things, at your request:_

 _openly hit on other male (or female, its 2016, amirite?) guests while you act like you dont notice._

 _start instigative discussions about politics and/or religion._

 _propose to you in front of everyone._

 _pretend to be really drunk as the evening goes on (sorry, i dont drink, but i used to. alot. too much in fact. i know the drill)._

 _Start an actual, physical catfight with a family member, either inside or on the front lawn for all the neighbors to see._

 _I require no pay but the free meal i will receive as a guest!_

Helga honestly didn't know what she expected posting the ad with her phone number on Craigslist but she felt like she was winning at a game of some sort.

A game she was maybe playing with herself, but a game nonetheless.

It wasn't as if she actually expected anything to come of it. She might just take the opening shift at the bar and take a pic with some guy and send it and a screenshot to Phoebe so she could get mad and call and yell at her.

That sounded kind of funny.

* * *

Helga sighed, laying backwards over her couch. She had no idea what to do with her life at the moment, as she had a solid four friends and had already texted them all. She wasn't exactly in the mood to write or paint or do anything particularly so she blankly stared at the television as the next episode of Chopped queued up.

She hoped it wouldn't be another round with kids, as watching them get all worked up just stressed her out and not in the fun way.

Her phone jangled a familiar tune and she blinked at it, hoping it would be Gerald reaction to the bizarre Blu Ivy meme she texted him.

It was a completely unfamiliar number, certainly not Hillwood, judging by the area code.

Hi!  
I saw your craigslist ad.  
I'm not sure if you were kidding, but if you weren't, well…  
Can i buy you a cup of coffee?

She snorted, squinting at the text while shaking her head. She knew she was playing with fire, as ever DARE course about internet safety she had ever taken screamed at her from the back of her mind. Especially because the guy, or girl, who knows, typed like it was 2007. They were probably old enough to be her dad.

But, they, whoever they may be, had tested fate and texted her when she was bored out of her mind, so they were going to deal with the repercussions of it.

sure.  
but it has to be somewhere with outside seating so my tiny horse can come.  
his name is sebastian.  
he drinks his coffee with cream, no sugar. tan, like his glorious coat.

She thought that was weird enough to sufficiently scare off her suitor, but her phone was buzzing before she could even put it back on her coffee table.

is he, by chance,…lil?  
are there, by chance,…  
5000 candles in the wind?

accompanied by a smiling emoji sticking it's tongue out.

Helga squinted at the phone. She hadn't even realized that she had completely stolen that joke from Parks and Recreation when she typed it. She had half a mind to be annoyed at getting called out for it, but she was more amused by the turn of the conversation.

if, by chance,

She typed smugly, playing whoever was on the other side's fiddle for them,

i agreed to meet you at a coffee place with plentiful accommodation for house horses.

A moment passed and then a tentative reply buzzed in.

Yes?

She gripped her phone harder than necessary for sitting on her couch.

would it be a bright place?  
busy?  
with lots of people?  
and probably no knives?

She paused for half a second, but then continued

and also could you bring a house horse because lil sebastian isn't feeling well?

Their reply didn't take too long, thank God, because she had started sweating at some point, which was fucking gross and also weird because why was she nervous?

Yes.  
Yes.  
Yes.  
…Hopefully?  
& I can certainly try.

A beat, and then..

:-)

Helga grinned, and then put her phone down, and stood up, ready to bash her head into the wall. She took a few heated paces around her living room. Why was she giggling? Flirting with a stranger on the internet? Was she that lonely?

It was completely insane and she glanced at her pink-faced reflection, glad her face hadn't yet reached the tone of her hair. Yet.

She put a hand against her flushed face, and took a deep breath.

This was crazy, this was nuts. She was going to turn around and pick up her phone and block that number as soon as she could stop fucking grinning. Block the number, drink a glass of wine, find a goddamn hobby.

She stormed back over to her phone, picking it up quickly and with abandon.

give me a time and place.

She texted back.

She dropped her phone on the carpet, glancing at herself in the mirror.

"You," she pointed in the mirror that Becky stole from a Tinder date's house because it was squiggly and cool, "are a fucking nut-bag."

"Quit talking to yourself, Helga!" Becky yelled at her from the bathroom.

* * *

She felt like a moron, standing in the middle of the coffee shop. She had put on a dress, then hated herself for it and took it off _immediately_. She had on, instead, a pair of ripped high waisted jeans, and a cropped long sleeve t-shirt with a print of a fried egg on it she made when she got high with Gerald one time in senior year. She ditched her coat, standing awkwardly by the open table she nabbed while she could. The black sleeves fell over her hands, and she fiddled with them. She hoped the buns she had tied her pink hair into on the top of her head were still even, wispy pieces fell into her face.

She felt like a grade a asshat, and she had no idea how to pick him out of the people meandering in and out of the shop. It was cold outside, so the people were lingering by the door, a lady with a baby, and a lady who looked frankly glad to not be the one with a baby. Helga related to her, as Helga also was frankly, glad to not be the one with the baby.

She told him that he'd know who she was by the hair but that wouldn't help him find her at all… and she was suddenly nervous that they wouldn't be able to find each other and this entire thing would be awkward and then someone was grinning at her, right by the entrance.

And it was not what she was expecting and she only could fathom it being him because in his left hand was a small, stuffed horse.

She had half a mind to shove him into the display of cups behind him and make a break for it.

He was tall, with blonde hair falling into green eyes and overall handsome. He was wearing a nice, green plaid shirt and it was tucked in and he had on a nice watch and she wanted to hide under the table or kick herself for not wearing the dress, but most importantly, he was holding a _goddamn horse_.

He held it out to her. "I did my best," he grinned down at her and she didn't know what to do but she wanted to shove it down his throat or do something because the entire thing was so fucking weird.

"Can I get you a coffee?" He didn't allow for an awkward pause, asking her with a quick glance at the line behind him.

"Yes, black, please." She did her best attempt at a smile, but it felt more like a grimace, and she tentatively took the horse from him. She didn't want to be the crypt creeper, but for some reason being good at basic human mannerisms were completely forsaking her in the moment.

"Be right back." He grinned.

She was sitting with an incredibly good looking boy at a coffee shop who was smart and nice and it was because she was being a dumbass on the internet. And he brought her a horse. A _horse_.

When he handed her her cup, she downed a quarter of it and didn't even care it burned her mouth everywhere.

"Thirsty, then?" He laughed, setting his own cup down and pulling out his chair to sit across from her.

"I'm Arnold," he held out a hand to her.

"Helga," She took it, ducking her head to cough into her shoulder. "So, Arnold," she wiped her mouth with her sleeve. "Who in your family do you hate that badly?" She hadn't meant it to sound so aggressive, but it had, and there they were.

She put her arms back on the table, then inwardly winced because she just wiped her mouth with her sleeve. She didn't know why her soul animal was a 12 year old boy who rarely did anything but play call of duty but she wanted him the fuck out of her soul.

He, thankfully, laughed.

"I don't-" He shook his head. He laughed again, and it was warm and soothing like butter on popcorn and Helga was ready to launch herself out the window. "I was…I was looking for a chair for my apartment on Craigslist when I saw the ad,"

She furrowed her brow, but listing it in chairs didn't sound unlike her. She wasn't a regular craigslist user.

"And," He wrapped his hands around his cup, obviously enjoying the warmth on his finger tips. It was already a brutal winter. She noticed the flush across his nose and cheeks, and was angry it made him cuter. "I need a date for my parent's house, so…"

"No offense, kiddo-" Helga leaned forward, not buying that story for a second, "but based on evidence I've thus far gathered," She glanced down to the coffee in her hand that he paid for, to his watch, back to his face, "but you don't seem like a guy who's had a rough time getting a date."

"Well," he grinned at her, leaning forward on his arms, "thank you."

She leaned back, for the first time wary of him, of the entire situation, crossing her arms. "What's your game, here?"

"I love my parents," he had his elbows leaned against the table. He had that full-blown grin on his face again, the one that made him look like…sunshine or honey or something equally disgusting. "But, uh," he licked his lips, "look, to be frank…" he leaned forward, and she got the feeling that was a habit of his. Some people were just intense with the eye contact and the interested leans forward, and he was one of them. "I was hoping you'd be more awful?"

She laughed, then, for the first time. "You really know how to make a girl feel special, Arnold." She felt the embarrassed flush creep up her neck. More awful. She hadn't called her abhorrent but it still made her want to run even more than him being cute did.

"Okay, no, that came out wrong, you're-"

She laughed over his scrambling and over the teeny tiny crack in her heart he created. She crossed her knees and was trying really really hard not to feel shitty for being so into him. She was wearing a shirt with a goddamn egg on it, and she didn't even have a good reason why.

"My family hates my girlfriends!" He blurted out suddenly, over her laugh. She didn't know what facial expression she was supposed to make then, she had no recollection of a time before this when she was so aware of what her face was doing. She tried to do sincerely interested even though she was already plotting an exit strategy. "Every single one I've ever had! And it's so weird because my mom likes everyone, but they're oddly protective of me because of," he swallowed, "just this stuff that happened when I was little, we were separated until I was five or so," He waved it off dismissively, but Helga desperately wanted to know more. She loved getting involved in business that wasn't her own, it was rather a sick fascination of hers. "So I was hoping if someone," he glanced up at her, "I don't know, was the lowest common denominator…"

"Did you just use math to describe human relationshi-" She tried to laugh again because, okay, that one fucking hurt. And she knew she signed up for this, but Jesus Christ- but he held out a hand, hellbent on finishing his thought.

"Then they'd lay off of whoever came after, but really-" He glanced up at her again, "were you planning on looking this pretty on Christmas?" He asked, tilting his head to the side. Her heart did what she could only describe as a flutter. "I mean, ah-" he smacked a hand on his forehead.

 _YOU ARE CONFUSING ME WITH YOUR MOUTH WORDS_ she screamed in her mind quickly and she didn't know what face on earth this situation called for as no sitcom had ever prepared her for this. She wanted to go for pretty, cute duck into her palm, but was afraid she landed more in the gaping fish territory.

"You're right, this is stupid," He backed away from her slowly, and she quickly thought that she hadn't said he was stupid, just his math analogies, "what am I even doing?" He spoke to himself, looking down at his hands like they held the secrets to the inner mechanisms of his mind. "My grandpa is just on my back about, well, not really- and you're so, I mean," He blinked at her, "isn't this kind of degrading?" He blanched as she raised an eyebrow, because she had posted the ad, thank you. "I mean, obviously, you can do what you like but, I just never thought a girl like you would need to, not that you need to... god," he smacked a hand on his face again, "nothing I'm saying is working out."

She studied him carefully, realizing she was still far back away from him, as she was the entire time during this terrible, terrible ramble. Her arms were still crossed and she could only imagine how she might appear, intimidating. She was still regretting the shirt with egg on it.

"I'll do it," she said quickly, planting her hands on the table. On the inside, she was kicking herself, knowing that it was only because he was cute except for maybe a strangely shaped head. If he had been any less cute she would have gotten the fuck out of there faster than you can say small fire. Which is likely what she would have set. "Tell me about your family, why do they hate your girls?"

He looked up at her, quickly, blinking. He was almost innocent in that moment. "Did I tell you we have to drive to Seattle?"

She snorted, and picked up her coffee while raising her eyebrows at him, "did I tell you you _really_ have a way with words?"

* * *

 _a/n_

 _*chanting from the sidelines* ROAD TRIP ROAD TRIP ROAD TRIP_

 _i don't know why i was going for palpably awkward energy here but i dont know why i go for most things! or why i'm starting another fic when i have a mountain of WIPS to weed through! whoops!_

 _love you all- thanks for reading. let me know what you think this is a pretty new take on them for me._


	2. Chapter 2

What are you wearing?

He stared at his text to her, completely baffled with himself. He had sent it before even _reading_ it. If he put his foot in his mouth any more he might have to have it surgically removed and surged there. He was just wondering what she was planning on wearing to the party, having just packed his bag himself, for the sake of coordination, he supposed.

I'm sorry  
That wasn't how i wanted to phrase that.

half a sexy yoda costume & three teaspoons of mayonnaise

Her reply came before he could even finish correcting himself. He sat on his bed, even more befuddled by her reply, to the point where he couldn't even remember what he was going to say to begin with.

guess where the teaspoons are  
;)

He clicked the button on the side of his phone and stepped away from his bed, laughing and baffled and turned on in arguably the most bizarre way of all time - and without a response for her.

((they're in my nostrils))

He full out laughed at her, and was typing before he thought about it, again.

three nostrils you have?

He didn't exactly know what it was about this girl that made him maybe partially more reckless than he normally was.

guess where the third is.  
where are we meeting

A moment, and then.

should i bring mayo.

He sat back down on his bed next to his duffle bag, packed for the next two days- bound to be a fascinating time in his life.

I was going to offer to come pick you up.  
So you don't have to figure out where to put your car, and that stuff.

He watched the little bubble indicating she was typing by her name almost anxiously. He didn't know why, he supposed he was just nervous about the entire weekend.

That's so cute.  
that u think i have a car  
& that i'm willing to let u sell my address to the squirrel mafia  
or worse  
those knife salesmen

He really, really wanted to ask where the hell she got 'squirrel mafia' from, but he supposed he should deal with the task at hand.

Do you want me to come meet you somewhere?

no text me ur address  
ill come to u  
and i can judge ur tchotchkes  
they're the best judge of character u know

Are they?

lemme tell u :  
it doesn't matter how cute he is  
if he has a small collection of ceramic santa clauses  
u run  
u just fuckin run.  
…  
anyway,  
address?

* * *

"Did you hide your santa clauses?" Helga asked when he answered the door, staring at him blankly. She looked nice, again, with an absurd amount of glitter in her hairline. It couldn't have been an accident, it had to have been a fashion choice.

"I don't own santa clauses," he replied honestly, stepping aside to allow her entry into his apartment, which was sad and boring because he just had no idea what home decor was supposed to look like.

"That's what they all say," She leered at him. She took a tired glance around his gray-walled apartment, he supposed, not finding what she was looking for. "I'm kidding, this is boring and you don't have enough space in here to hide a body, let's go."

She jumped from activity to activity so quickly he hadn't even moved and he felt winded. Her presence was just such a windstorm that it took a lot out of you to do nothing at all.

"Look," he shut his door behind him, ignoring her raised eyebrow. "I know this is crazy," He told her honestly, moving past her to sit on his couch, "and could go terribly wrong." He sat down, glancing up at her, "it involves spending an entire night in a hotel room with an actual stranger."

"I've had worse Tuesdays," she replied nonplussed, but he continued.

"So, look, honestly, if you don't want to do this you can leave now and I won't be mad at all. I understand."

She groaned, pushing up the sleeves of her emerald green velvet dress, and slumping over the top of his arm chair, putting her chin in her palm. "I want you to tell me why you want me there." She told him, point-blank. "And I want the truth."

He rolled his hands in his lap. He had kind of seen this coming. He knew he was neither honest nor convincing about it when they had met a week ago.

"I've been dating this girl for months," He told her honestly, finally, after a moment. He had gotten her interest, he knew by the little twitch in her eyebrows. She walked around the arm chair she was leaning on and sat in it. "And I haven't, uh…" He put his hand on his face, almost speaking into it, "I was really into her and I haven't been subtle about it in the slightest."

She was giving him a look that was, in part, sincere, and the other part fascinated.

"She dumped the fuck out of you, didn't she?" She finished for him, leaning forward with what was maybe a hint of sadism.

He groaned, "it's so embarrassing."

"And you replied to my ad?"

"I was gonna let my family hate her so that it could look like I dumped her," He squished his face up, like he was in pain or something, "it's stupid and awful, I know…but my parents are kind of weird about love and I fanned the fire on this one."

When he looked back up at her, she was frowning in consideration.

"I don't see any reason why we can't still do that. I'll just have the conversational habits of freeze dried spinach, they can hate me, and you're out of that magical relationship you were all starry-eyed about." He stared at her as she paused, as if she had something else to say, and then, in a fashion he was quickly learning was very her, she said it, "thanks for telling me the truth."

"Well," he stood up, "you're welcome. So we're doing this?"

"You said that too quickly, you were high too, weren't you?"

"Oh, out of my _mind_. The horse came through amazon prime and I nearly had a panic attack because for a few minutes I had no idea why I ordered it."

* * *

They were twenty five minutes into the drive and still had very little small talk. Arnold felt an odd sort of tension built up between them, as if the real reason they were doing this wasn't really said by either of them yet.

He, of course, wasn't going to say it then, but he had to say _something_.

"So, do you have pets?" He asked, turning down the radio.

"No." She replied plainly.

"Hobbies?"

"No."

"Siblings?"

"…No."

"You hesitated, you do." He glanced over to her, feeling a little smug about catching it.

"I had one, but she's dead." She replied sullenly. She sunk down into her seat a little more.

"Oh my god," He felt his hands freeze on the steering wheel almost as badly as his mind was frozen. "Helga, I'm so sorry, was it…" he wanted to ask if it was recent - and subsequently realized that was the absolute worst thing to say to a grieving person, and he could just smack himself.

"Yeah I mean-" Helga had a hint of a smile on the corner of her mouth, as if it were an unintentional twitch. "She was…"

"You're fucking with me, aren't you?" He realized after he said it that could be a grievous mistake, but he had said it. If he just shoved a foot into his mouth well…it would be a long day.

Thank God or whoever was up there, because her face cracked into a smile. "You're more clever than I originally gave you credit for," she mused, raising her eyebrows and looking out the window. "Huh."

"How much did you give me credit for?"

"Somewhere in between a yield sign with a tag on it and those octopuses that can get in and out of plastic bottles."

"Right."

* * *

"So," Helga said, an hour and fifteen minutes into the drive. "Are ghosts real or not?"

He spluttered, almost losing his concentration on the road. "Uh," he switched lanes because he accidentally pushed his foot on the pedal harder, "that's a little much. Couldn't you go with favorite color or snack?"

"No, because I'm not a pussy." She turned off his radio.

He rolled his eyes.

"Well, in my opinion-"

"That's not what I asked, what is this, a college admissions essay?" She scoffed, crossing a doc marten covered foot, over her leg. "Are they real or aren't they?"

"I mean, I'm not God, I don't know for sure…"

"I didn't ask in terms of the holy truth of the universe," She made a bizarre, grand, gesture with her hands, "I asked in terms of your own personal truth, because that's the only way things are ever really asked."

"Did you swallow a sociology book before getting in this car?"

"I'm bored, answer my question."

"Yes, then." He answered begrudgingly, "to me, yes."

"Interesting," she was smiling at him with that odd, almost proud smile. "Very interesting, Arnold."

"Well, then," he returned back into the other lane, glancing over at her face, flecks of glitter falling on to her face, "what about you?"

"What about me?" She asked, looking back out the window.

"What do you mean?" He furrowed his eyebrows a little, and glanced down at her, "do you think ghosts are real?"

She shrugged in lieu of a response.

"Well that's not fair," he laughed a little, readjusting his grip on the wheel. "I answered the question."

"When did I promise you an answer to the question?" She grinned at him.

* * *

"Yeah, so when I was thirteen I was really into learning to read braille and my parents had to break it to me that that was an entirely useless skill-"

"Arnold." She interrupted him quickly. "We are a half hour out and you still have not explained to me what I can do to make your family hate me."

"Oh," he frowned in consideration for a moment, "I don't…know to be honest with you. They're pretty loving people. But there's things that annoy them, like all people. I don't know to be honest with you, I hadn't really thought that bit through. Just try and be…unlikable, I guess."

"So…just be myself?"

"Helga," he rolled his eyes, "that's not true."

"There's nothing wrong with being unlikable and abrasive," she informed him tactfully, sitting him to stare at him, "I like it and very few people ask me for favors."

Arnold glanced over to Helga for a moment, at her determined set eyebrows, and understood that she was serious. That it wasn't a joke to her, who she was, and she quite liked it.

And then he said a quick prayer for the rest of his evening.

* * *

"How couple-y are we going to be?" She asked bluntly as they walked up the steps to the townhouse.

"I mean," Arnold scratched the back of his neck "oh, I don't know. Whatever you're comfortable with." He pushed down the sleeves of his sweater, red and green and kind of ugly, but whatever he liked it. He kept getting told it was a great 'ugly christmas sweater' and tried his best not to be insulted by that. He bought it a few years ago and it was nice and thick and who cares if the stitches of the reindeer antlers kind of make them look like tiny demons? He liked them, and the Santa that had his hat falling off on the back.

She stopped and looked up at him. He opened his mouth to ask what she was doing, but before he could, she touched his face, his shoulder, his waist, with opposite hands and quick stabbing motions.

"What are you…" He trailed off as she patted his hair.

"Right, then," she nodded, "I just had to make sure none of that was going to be weird." She trotted onward, leaving him dumb-founded behind her.

"…you didn't think that was weird?" He called after her.

* * *

"Arnold!" His parents greeted enthusiastically at the door, before they had even finished opening it. His mother in a classy dark red turtle neck, his father wearing a blue sweater with snowflakes in a single stripe around the chest.

Helga, by the time the door had opened, had sprung into action.

"Hi Mom! Hi Pop!" She greeted in an over enthusiastically springy voice, all but jumping inside the house, grabbing each of their arms excitedly. "Ha! I'm just kidding, can you imagine?" She dropped her tone back to it's original home, an octave lower, and looked around blankly, "where are your fire exits?"

Arnold was met, maybe not for the first time ever, but the first time he ever noticed it, with a blind admiration for the girl's uninhibited uniqueness.

"Mom, Dad," he grabbed her wrist, pulling her into him, hoping it was okay with her but she didn't seem to particularly object, "this is my girlfriend, Helga," she kissed his cheek quickly.

"We're two regular peas in a pod," she pinched his cheek where she kissed it- of course she did.

She released him, thank _God_ , she had one hell of a grip, and held out her hand to them, "nice to meet you.

"Hi," his Mom smiled with a well seasoned mixture of warmth and mirth. "We've heard so much about you."

"Yeah well, who hasn't, not the Portland Police Department, I'll tell ya' that right there." She beamed as if she hadn't just omitted felonies on to his parents. Arnold thought for a moment Helga might be better at this than he expected, pretty face and all.

"Helga, these are my parents," His Dad put a hand on Helga's shoulder, "Phil and Gertie." He turned around, ecstatic and not even realizing his grandparents were already in the room. There they were, older and tired but certainly still filled with their own brand of life. Grandpa was sitting there, in a neat little zipped up sweater, taking a break from reading the book on his lap. Grandma was wearing a sweater that said "Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals," on it, in neon pink letter writing, indicating she had more likely made it than anything else. She was holding what looked like gray clay, sculpting what looked like a small ukulele out of it, who knew why.

"Grandma, Grandpa!" Arnold exclaimed, stepping over to lean down to hug them both. "I'm so glad to see you." He noticed them waving, Helga must have waved to them behind him.

"Frankly, Arnold, I'm glad to see anything," Grandpa joked with him, rubbing a hand on his hair.

"Arnold," Grandma yanked his face down her level, he grinned out of fondness for her anyway, "your girlfriend has cotton candy for hair…tell her I love it," she told him seriously, "and ask if I can have some."

He patted her hand, "okay, Grandma."

"Arnold," His Dad called to him, he must have moved a few feet away while he was saying hello to his grandparents, "wanna help me with some firewood?"

"Yea, okay, Dad." He moved to stand back up, but he was yanked back down.

"Don't forget to ask."

"I won't, Grandma."

* * *

"She's…sparkly," his dad commented to him as they walked through the kitchen.

"…yeah." Arnold replied with a small lilt of amusement.

"Young lady, has anyone ever told you your hair might be able to be used to signal airplanes." Arnold heard his Grandpa say as he followed his dad out back. He wanted to smack a hand on his face, but he was straining too hard to hear Helga's response.

"You know, that's a new one, but I think that might be my favorite compliment I've ever gotten."

* * *

His family wasted little time when it came to the holidays. He was just glad to spend it with his Dad's extended family. He loved his Grandpa Phil and Grandma Gertie. He was raised by them for a few years after he was born. He was less close with his mother's side, and they were more judg-y, to be honest. But he had just seen them at Thanksgiving, when Emma had told him she wasn't interested in seeing him over the holiday. That should have been a red flag, but he was always a bit of an idealist.

Helga looked a little like a cat with a fish in a fish bowl sitting at the table which had valentines candy hearts spread around through out it, looking every bit like she was analyzing each of his family members, trying to figure out the exact wrong thing to say. It was a cute expression, even if it wasn't intentional, and he reached out for her, kissing her cheek quickly, patting her face so his thumb just barely tapped against her temple.

His dad had watched him do it with a knowing look.

"Let's go around and each share a thing we're grateful for this Christmas," his dad said sincerely, giving him a warm wink. "I'll start, I'm grateful everyone is healthy."

"I'm grateful we didn't burn anything," his mother added, nodding to Arnold.

"Uh," he stammered, "family, always grateful for family."

"Ellen Degeneres and Sour Patch Kids." Helga added flatly.

A weird sort of silence settled over the table and Arnold thought for a moment she may have actually succeeded at her goal.

Until, his Grandma let out a barking laugh,

"Ha!" She shook her head as quickly as a woman of her age could, "I was just wondering if I was allowed to answer 'my shows' or 'chocolates with caramels in the middle."

Grandpa picked up a glass of sparkling wine, proposing a toast without words, "to non-slip shoes and umbrellas, great inventions."

It was overly apparent after a half hour of dinner that Helga being herself was not going to work on his family, who embraced oddity with maybe more open arms than normalcy. Helga floundered, obviously, next to him for a few moments on her new game plan. He stopped shoveling his potatoes around his plate for a moment, and put a hand on her knee, almost a lifeline to tell her it was okay if it didn't work.

"It just tore me up," his Mom was continuing her story. "she had such a nasty attitude towards this woman, just because she didn't understand. It's hard to learn a second language, especially that late in life."

"Yes, learning Russian took me years," Grandma said in an understanding tone, almost leaning towards Helga.

"Mom, you don't know Russian." His Dad corrected gently.

"You don't know everything about me," she chastised him.

"I just had to step in and help that poor woman," his Mom restored the conversation to it's original intent.

"I totally get what you mean," Helga had put on a weird accent in an attempt to sound more stupid, which Arnold supposed was her new goal, "I'm pretty sure my last cat was a racist."

Arnold was suddenly very aware his hand was still on her knee.

His parents shared a look in between each other that he knew wasn't intentional, but his Grandparents leaned in further. His Grandma was nodding slowly. "Animals are more than what we think," Grandma told Helga. Grandpa nodded at this, then began his own, glassy-eyed tale.

"Young lady, have I ever told you about the time I punched Hitler right in the…"

* * *

Helga playing dumb, in hindsight, was a bad move, as it wasn't going to work. The girl was many things, but unintelligent just wasn't one of them. It seemed as if she was currently going for pretentious know it all, but after twenty minutes of grilling about her opinions of Keat's later life poems from his mother, that was proving fruitless too.

Dad was talking about a holiday disaster on the campsite, and the table was grinning along to the story. Arnold was rearranging his silverware for some reason, when he felt her hands on his skin.

Helga ran her fingertips up his forearm, suddenly, after an evening thus far of barely reciprocating touch. She nodded as his mother talked, just tapping her fingers along his arm and all the way to the nape of his neck. He looked down at her with a bewildered look.

She frowned and shrugged in the most minuscule way, to ensure they hadn't seen it. He was almost alarmed at how well he was able to read it, as if she had said to him, ' _fuck, I don't know Arnold, I'm running out of ideas here_.'

Yea, he agreed, looping an arm around him to draw her in so they could go for over-affectionate. He kissed her head again, as she settled, somewhat tensely, against him. So was he.

* * *

He helped his Dad clean up the dishes, as was the Shortman way. They said very little, even though he could tell his Dad had something to say. He just wasn't exactly sure what. When his hands were thoroughly clammy but the dishes were dry, he walked into the foyer, where he saw his mother and his Grandpa, but no Helga.

"Hey, where is Helga?" He asked quietly, shoving his cold hands into his pant's pocket.

"I was just asking that," Grandpa leaned forward, "I like that girl, Arnold."

Arnold was pretty sure they could not have done worse at this if they had brought kittens and individualized gift baskets for every one of them. Who knows- maybe the cats would have been racists.

"I think she and Grandma have taken refuge in the living room." His mom winked at him. He didn't have any formal clue how he was going to break it all to them that Helga 'dumped' him next week. He was beginning to be unsure how he was going to deal with it himself.

* * *

"I love him, but he has the weakest knees of any man I've ever known," He heard Helga say as he walked down the hall towards them, and his heart stopped for a moment, because he thought she might be talking about him. He peeked into the room to see Helga and his Grandma sitting on the couch.

"no!" his Grandma croaked in response, "his father was a Rockefeller!" The living room was decorated, he noticed, just about as well as it was every year, with a Christmas tree covered in what looked like paper fish and toy cars.

"but Mama, what does it matter?" Helga replied dramatically, pausing for a moment, just long enough for Arnold to wonder what exactly was going on there, "our children would never be the soccer star Papa dreamed of!"

"But…" it was his Grandma's turn for a dramatic pause, 'he wasn't your father."

And the two women collapsed into giggles. His grandmother reached for her knees, patting them fondly, "oh, Eleanor…you tickle me, you really do."

Arnold had never been more confused and he took two years of calculus in college. He glanced up at the television, and on very low volume was a very dramatically filmed Spanish soap opera, which was just then turning to commercials.

He was ready to walk in and interrupt the moment, and ask exactly what was going on in there, but there was a twinkling, interested look in his Grandma's eye as Helga started question the motives of the shifty mop in the floor cleaner commercial. She suggested they were more malicious than they seemed on the surface, and Grandma laughed with the youth of someone half her age easily.

Arnold scratched his hands along the side of his scalp, flipping back around the open door to the hallway. He sunk down along the wall to sit.

He thought he had prepared for every possible outcome, but this…

This was an outlier.

* * *

 _a/n merry christmas everyone! or happy holidays to all of you who celebrate anything else or nothign at all this time of year. paper fish and toy cars for you all. man, i am one for a wacky shortman christmas, i don't know about y'all. i'll be posting again on christmas and the day after, so keep those eyes peeled! i suppose this is my gift of sorts, inviting you to spend a little bit of the holidays with me (but really the shortmans.) i know the holidays can be one of the loneliest times of year for some people, so let's remember to be extra kind to each other for the next few days! you're all loved and appreciated here!_

 _holy heck, thank you if you left reviews you're all toooo tooo sweet and you made my heart really smile thank u! let me know what you think of the ((maybe mildly predictable, its christmas schmoop, sue me,) comeuppance going on here. love to you this holiday season, see you on christmas._

 _xx, k._


	3. Chapter 3

Arnold did not grasp the concept of playing foreign shows so you can make up your own dialogue because Arnold was No Fun, Helga decided. And definitely Not attractive and probably gross or something.

Helga's insides were squirming all night, and it certainly wasn't because of Arnold. Well, she had no reason to lie in her own mental narrative, maybe partially because of Arnold, but also because getting family members to dislike her was kind of her jam for her entire life and she was…struggling, whether or not she could admit it.

Helga wasn't much of an actress, truth be told, it made her sweaty. When they hadn't inherently disliked her from first glance, she knew she was softly fucked. She imagined she was already pretty fucked considering that she thought that people would just dislike her on first glance, but then again, the Shortman clan was _far_ from average. She had taken her little canister of glitter around to smear some on Gertie's cheek when they were called back into the main room. She was a goner with the grandparents, but she thought just maybe if she smothered them in glitter, she could at least annoy the parents. Arnold fell back behind his grandmother to walk with Helga as they strolled back into the foyer.

"You know," he grabbed her arm, leaned down to whisper in her ear, "you are really, really bad at this."

She frowned, "my profile never boasted experience."

She looked down to where Stella had told her the bathroom was, right before the entrance to the foyer.

She opened it grandly, and all but shoved Arnold inside, closing the door behind them.

* * *

"Let me let you in on a little secret," she told him in his parent's bathroom, "I am many things, unreliable, deceitful, sometimes a little lethargic," she pinched her fingers, "but I am not," she jabbed a finger into his chest, "a failure."

"I didn't call you a failure," he frowned at her, leaning against the pedestal sink, "I just said you were bad at this."

"If you're not calling me a failure that makes you a liar and that is worse in my book," she paced back in forth in front of him, "just so you know."

"It's fine," he stood up, reaching for her elbows, for some odd reason because it wasn't like his parent's could see him through the walls, "it's ju-"

"Lying is fine?" She retorted quickly so she had a reason to not be within his reach. She did a double take behind her because maybe she was just ever so slightly worried that his parents could in fact see through walls. They were intimidating enough as it was.

"I'll just be the loser I am and tell them the truth," he had a good natured smile on his face, "that I got my ass dumped." He put his hands in his pockets. "Okay?"

"Or," she jabbed the finger back into his chest, whispering conspiratorly because she was uncomfortable she had failed her mission "we allude to the fact we were never dating at all because we're actually secret spies on the run from a mafia member we angered and this was part of witness pro-"

He grabbed her finger, "I think we'll go with my idea."

She shoved away from him, "suit yourself."

She was opening the door when she heard him mutter "I can't believe you're still on about the squirrel mafia,"

She turned around and leered at him, "tell me where you've experienced a 20 mile gap without seeing a squirrel, and then we'll talk." He blinked at her. "They're _everywhere_ ," She whispered.

* * *

Not too long after Arnold called it a night, grabbing Helga's coat from the rack. The Shortman family seemed rather insistent on exchanging hugs, and promises to be back in the morning. She was maybe a little confused on how people with " _loving_ " and " _supportive_ " families stood all the hugging. Hugging was barely fun with people you liked, let alone estranged family members. She did, have a small soft spot for Gertie, who patted her hair as she hugged her, and reminded her to bring a notebook the next day so they could start on their novel. She tried her hardest not to beam at her, because god knows _Arnold_ was watching.

Arnold kept staring at her and Helga was about ready to rip his eyeballs out or at least his eyebrow hair so he could stop giving her that little, confused look.

"Take a picture," She settled for sass, instead, "that way you can show your friends."

He must have decided against replying, starting his car with a small shake of his head.

* * *

Hotels in major cities on Christmas Eve are apparently a sight to see, Helga mused with great pleasure, as the entered the madhouse of the lobby. There were at least three crying children, a bellhop chasing after a fluffy ass white dog, and two uncles already passed out on couches. Helga, almost self consciously, clutched her backpack to her chest, following Arnold to the front desk. Arnold handled a frazzled worker with ease, insisting they did not need a bellhop, and that if they stopped chasing that dog, it would come to them.

On Helga's left there was the beginnings of a divorce, a yelled argument about whether or not they were entitled to a window with a room.

It wasn't a thought she had before, to be thankful she didn't work in that hotel, but it was one she had then.

* * *

"You know," he shoved his hands into his pockets as they stared at the single, king sized, bed. "They might be able to let us…switch rooms, you know."

She gave him a flat look, considering the state of the lobby that they could still hear the whispers of, even from the room.

"Alright," he walked forward, dumping his bag on an empty chair, before more gently picking up her small rolling bag onto the luggage rack. "I'm taking the bathtub,"

"What?" Her eyebrows shot into her hairline.

She didn't jive with the white knight thing, in fact, it annoyed her. She was no princess, she was a motherfucking dragon, dickhead. And so she, very maturely, followed Arnold into the bathroom, and plopped her ass into the bathtub.

"Helga," he sighed tiredly, turning around from the mirror he was washing his hands by.

She interrupted whatever he was going to say, "so tell me, what are your ghost encounters?"

It was his turn for a flat look. "Get out of there."

"Make me."

His eyes narrowed at her, and she was rather tickled she had gotten under his skin.

And Arnold looked like he was thinking about it, about picking her up out of the bathtub. She kind of wanted him to, in some kind of weird way. But, he actually managed to surprise her by matching her level of pettiness, and he stomped over, and sat down across from her.

* * *

"So, tell me," her legs were sort intertwined with him. He didn't know where romantic movies got off, making taking a bath together look like fun. Of course, with them, they would have to remove the clothes and add the water and possibly bubbles and…Arnold sunk lower in the tub. "Why are you pouting."  
He had his chin shoved into his chest. "M' not pouting." He looked up at the shower head above him, and began to count the holes, before looking back down to Helga.

"And I'm a rockette." She rolled her eyes. "C'mon," she kind of kicked him, as best she could in the cramped tub.

"This is stupid, you know-" He sat up again, "you can go to bed." He was glad it was at least a nice bathroom, white with gray tiles and a flat mirror and a nice sink. Even little decorative soaps, which was cool because he couldn't imagine how much soap it was gonna take to wash out the glitter in Helga's hair.

"My only bed is this bathtub tonight."

"Helga," He shifted forward, tucking his knees up in an attempt to disengage contact with her legs. It didn't work at all. "You're absolutely crazy if you think I'm gonna sleep in that bed and let you sleep in this bathtub."

"Isn't that why you hired me?" She was grating on his nerves now, sly grin at him while entirely refusing to remove her legs from his person. "Because you think I'm crazy?" She quirked an eyebrow up.

He had known it the entire night, but somehow sitting in the bathtub made it truly settle over him. They really were complete strangers. Something about Helga gave him the feeling he had known her his entire life, but the fact remained at the core: they were strangers. He wasn't fine tuned to understand her weird signals and she wasn't naturally going to understand what ticked him off about his family. He didn't even know if she had a family.

He didn't know exactly what he thought of her, but he certainly didn't think she was crazy. Her feet were practically by his shoulder. The lipstick she had put on in his car was far smeared off, and she still had a little smirk on her face. It was probably partially caused by amusement, part wine.

She then flicked the handle behind him up with her foot.

He spluttered as the water hit his head while she flipped her legs around and gracefully stood out of the bath. She strut over to the door, looking back with a little smirk on her face.

"That's what you get-" he stared at her, letting the water pour over his head, "for thinking I'm not crazy." She all but sauntered back out of the bathroom.

* * *

Helga barely knew where the idea sprung from but she walked out of the room, ignoring her wet legs, and promptly flopped onto the bed and groaned. She ignored how plush and comfortable the comforter was, plagued by the discomfort of her own actions. But it was really nice - egyptian cotton, or something or maybe that was a myth, did they grow cotton in Egypt? Helga made it a mental note to go to Egypt, check for cotton. And mummies, naturally.

"Why must you be a never-ending parade of psychosis," She muttered to herself grimly, face pressed into the, soft as fuck, bed sheets. She had no idea what she was doing, but whatever it was she was trying to accomplish she was doing it poorly. Just as badly as that one time she challenged a rollerskater to a competition when she couldn't rollerskate.

"Alright, crazy-" Arnold appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, sopping wet, arms crossed. "I'm gonna need a drink to make it through tonight, he walked over to his backpack on the bed. "You comin'?"

She blinked at him. He wasn't particularly asking for an apology, but she knew this was her opportunity to give him one.

"You gonna change, Sea Biscuit?" She quirked an eyebrow.

You know, at least she _thought_ about apologizing.

"Yes," he snorted, holding up his bag as evidence. "I'm gonna dry my hair too, so that'll give you time to decide," he winked, disappearing back into the bathroom. She took a moment, staring blankly after him, all too aware of that her legs made the comforter wet, making the entire situation clammy. She shoved her face back into the comforter and groaned.

"I can't believe I called him Sea Biscuit."

She shot up suddenly, sitting up straight. "Wait a minute-" she muttered to herself, grabbing a pillow "Sea biscuit iSN'T EVEN A FISH." She threw her pillow frustratedly at the wall.

She ignored him laughing from inside the bathroom.

* * *

Helga wasn't wearing any makeup anymore, staring at him from across the bar. Which took them 25 minutes to find, as it _was_ Christmas eve.

And sure, it was an asian karaoke bar and they had never been more confused in their entire lives, but at least he was confused with jameson.

All he had really gotten out of it at the moment was that people were happy and the music was loud and the drinks weren't too expensive, so honestly, it wasn't that bad a cut in his mind. He was trying not to watch Helga, because he had a feeling that just kind of pissed her off, but it was also incredibly hard not to. She was like a moving painting at all times, if paintings could kick and get mad at you for no reason.

"I tried, you know-" she was circling the top of her beer with her finger, "I don't want you to think I didn't."

It was a conversation only Helga would have while someone was singing in Korean not twenty five feet away from them. She had her chin in her palm.

"What can I say," he knocked his shoulder with hers, "you're just too likable."

"Ugh," she groaned, putting her face on the counter, "you're insufferable."

He frowned in consideration at that, before smiling at the back of her head and saying a little "thank you," to himself, sipping on his drink.

When he looked back at her, she was grinning at him with a devilish smirk.

"What," he asked warily, over the top of his glass.

"I won't sleep in that bathtub…if you'll do a song," she looked up at the screen, playing only what seemed to be Kpop songs.

"Helga, I'm not letting you sleep in the bathtu-"

"Prove it."

* * *

Arnold had never been covered in multiple feather boas while simultaneously making it very clear that he did not know Korean to a large group of people with many cheers in response before, but there were first times for everything.

He was dancing his way back to Helga, who's face was hard to see but he could still tell it was attractively flushed, guwaffing at him.

He swayed in front of her, abandon lost somewhere with in the chorus and the bridge, grabbing her wrists, "dance with me!" He tugged on her.

"Noooo way, Mr.-"

"Helga," he pulled her from her stool, "I sang the damn song, now dance with me."

And she did seem to make an effort to surprise him every twenty minutes, so he was almost angry at himself when he was surprised that she did.

He wished he had drank even a little more so he could blame it on alcohol, but he supposed he was just less predictable with Helga, as they danced their way into the crowd of people at the bar. Multicolored lights kept illuminating her glittering hair and laughing face and he definitely had to keep reminding himself that no first kiss should be had in a karaoke bar on a fake, elongated, date.

Arnold normally hated places like this, where no one seemed to know anybody and everything is only for that moment and no longer. Where life was narrowed down into a simple snow globe or a capsule of time, where no consequences existed and no one really knows anything. But, maybe it was the trio of girls to his right doing a carefully choreographed routine or the man on stage wailing his heart out to a spunky song, but he couldn't hate this place.

Maybe there were moments that belonged exactly where they were, and no place else.

Or maybe Helga just made him feel like he knew nothing and nothing was real, there was that, too.

Then she span out from him, and, more elegantly than he expected, honestly, span back in, remeeting his hips in the thumping rhythm- and he felt the crack in his composure run a little deeper.

"Share it with me," he read her lips more than he heard her words. He tilted his head to the side, confused at what she meant.

"Share what?" He said, but more mouthed than anything else.

"The dinosaur eggs," She shouted back, rolling her eyes at him.

"…what?"

They had the most separation between them they had had since dancing, thumping beat and swaying bodies surrounding them. Arnold was decently sure that his heartbeat was thumping along with the rhythm, almost audible to him, hair wet with sweat hanging into his eyes.

Helga had that same look back on her face, like she was deciding what to do. Arnold could read the expression like a book, but he wasn't sure if he wanted her to know that, so he just smiled kindly at her.

She took a decided step forward, and threaded her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, leaning up on her toes to speak into his ear.

"You are such an idiot." She fell back on her feet, examined him once more, and then kissed him.

And for the first time that evening- she hadn't surprised him when she intended to.

He couldn't help smirking into her kiss, running his hands from her sides to the small of her back, thinking that he was not as big of an idiot as she thought.

He could surprise _her_ with that later.

* * *

 _a/n i have updated two things in one night for this is my kingdom of words & there are no rules here._

 _love u all, double thanks if you leave reviews you really make my day each and every one of you_

 _xx, k._


	4. Chapter 4

They were behaving like teenagers, kissing and dancing and laughing in the middle of the floor. She finished her beer, stumbling off the floor, setting it on a table. He followed her, hands seemingly like they were stuck to her waist. She thought that was indescribably sexy- nothing appealed to her more than the idea that she was wanted.

Which was probably an indication of some fucked up childhood nonsense, but that was for another day, another therapy session.

"What do you want to do now," he asked, voice low and by her ear. The first thing that popped into her mind was this fantasy she had involving Han Solo but she wasn't quite drunk enough to suggest that.

"I want to be more drank!" She enthused, spinning around in his arms. Helga, thought, very strongly, that when she was was drunk she was still just as conscious, but her ability to give a fuck dropped below sea level. "Let's do rainbow shots," she told him, grabbing his collar.

"Rainbow shots?" He asked her, looking genuinely intrigued. "They have those?"

"God if I know but you asked what I want, not what I can have." She almost, almost mentioned the Han Solo thing. It was a good thing he talked instead.

"I think we," he kissed her chastely, quickly "should," he looked down at her with a curious glance. He then kissed her again, as if he regretted kissing her so quickly the first time. "Head back," he mumbled into her mouth as he pulled away.

Honestly, Arnold could have suggested shaving their heads and investing their savings in cellos shaped like ferns and Helga would have said yes.

* * *

She continued to talk as they walked back, him watching her with an amused lilt. "I moved out here for adventure!" she spun around in a stumbled, exhausting looking circle. "Trees! And waterfalls! And maybe buried treasure, somewhere." She stopped quickly, pointing at him fiercely, "did you know adventure can be very expensive?"

"Yes," he grinned. "Yes I did." She barely noticed she was could as he grinned at her.

"Well I didn't." She told him flatly, then turned around to walk the right way again. The streets were shaking, she was pretty sure. Like she was on a balance beam and someone was wiggling it and mocking her from above. "And," she hiccuped, "AND I have to work, like, ALL OF THE TIME." Helga shouted at the sky. Damn work, damn life, damn whoever kept shaking the ground under her.

"I wanted-" a coughing hiccup, "to have a car and go mountain climbing with a golden retriever. But do you know what else is expensive?!"

"Cars?"

"Oh," she stopped for a moment. "I was actually gonna say the golden retriever, but I suppose cars is a better answer."

* * *

The walk was enchanting and agonizing all at once, but they found themselves kissing lazily, and filled with laughter, in the elevator of their hotel.

When the doors pinged open, he walked backwards, drawing her with him as he went with his hold on her wrists.

She, with an annoyed but somehow also content smile, allowed herself to be dragged along. He could have turned around and walked like a normal person but that would require taking his eyes off her. Her and her mess of a glittery hairstyle and smudged winged eyeliner and her amused face. Yeah- him looking away wasn't going to happen in the near future.

He made a small "oof" sound as his back hit the door, and she pushed their hands on the door, interlocking their fingers as she kissed him. She untangled their hands, bringing her hands down his stomach.

He, free to use his own hands again, put one on her neck, disconnecting them just long enough so he could look at her again. He let his thumb sit in the hollow of her throat, enjoying that he could feel her heart beat there. He was going to say something, he had a purpose for interrupting her. But her eyes were so large and ever so slightly glassy, and her lips were pink from being kissed, and he couldn't talk so he pulled her firmly to the side so he could kiss under her ear.  
"Fuckin- we should and I haven't, I'm-" she rambled as she fumbled in her back pocket for their room key. Her misguided words fell into a soft sigh when he bit down on her jaw. She dropped her forehead onto his shoulder for just a moment after, before pushing him back against the wall, with the key successfully in her one hand.

"I am going to-" she had her hands on the hem of his shirt, and he firmly grabbed her wrists.

He remembered what he was going to stay, then, looking at her surprised eyebrows and hair just shy of falling into her mouth. And, if only for a moment, his body was screaming at him not to do it.

"We shouldn't," he told her firmly, running his thumbs over her wrists soothingly.

"But your face is so-" she whined, making him more firm in his decision making skills.

"And you," he put his hand on her face so his thumb fell on her lips and his fingers touched his hair. "My darling girl, are drunk." He kissed her nose.

She had pouty lips under his thumb, but she snorted anyway. "So are you, you-" she fiddled with the hands they were still holding, floundering for something to call him, " _football head_."

It was his turn to laugh then, resting back against the door. "Football head, really?" He shook his head, "you should have seen it when I was little."

"Show me tomorrow."

"I will."

He took the key from her, turning around, for the first time, to open the door.

"Oh," he heard Helga say, "hello." He turned around quickly, and there was someone down the hall.

A worryingly thin man was standing there in the most half-assed Santa costume Arnold had ever seen. He had a cigar in his mouth and had the beard on backward so it flowed down his back, the hat resting crooked on a bald head, and the coat half way off his shoulder, held up by the belt but no belly, which Arnold could only assume was the purpose of the graying pillow in between his legs.

"Love," he slurred, taking the cigar out of his mouth and using it to point at them, "is the ultimate gift." He threw a hand out of his pocket, and with it, what seemed to be a bunch of notebook paper ripped up to look like snow.

"Uh," Arnold's head began to spin, "thank you?"

The man didn't respond, and continued to stare at them as they let themselves into the room in somewhat of a hurry.

* * *

Helga went straight for the bathroom, and Arnold took the opportunity to change into pajamas. Which were an unsophisticated pair of gray sweatpants, and a black tshirt, but it would do. He grew really, really thankful they agreed to share the bed at the club, as he sat on it and waited for her. He grew worried about her, as there was no noise coming from the bathroom. He knocked politely, opening the door.

"Helga, are you okay in her-"

Helga was half asleep in the bathtub.

Arnold had to admire her tenacity.

"No!" She protested meekly, "I'm not letting you sleep in here," he walked to the tub, "we either share the bed or we share the tile."

"Helga, we already agreed to share the bed."

"We did?"

"Yeah."

"Well, shit…" She slurred, staring around like she was lost, "I guess this was pretty dumb, then, wasn't it?"

And then Arnold did something, again, completely reckless. It was becoming a terrible, terrible habit of his, but he picked her up out of the tub anyway. He couldn't count the amount of reckless things he had done in her presence. He was more concerned that he couldn't tell whether or not he cared.  
She made a half hearted attempt at surprise, but she was clearly very tired and very drunk.

He dumped her on to the, admittedly very large and stupid to fight over, bed. He flopped down next to her, ready to pass out without getting under the covers.  
She became mildly restless "Arnold, are you sure we can't-"

"Yes."

"Ugh," she groaned "you are the nicest boy I have ever met in my life and it's the most fucking annoying thing…" She rambled off on another one of her tangents.

He, very tiredly, put a hand on her face. "Tomorrow, Helga. We have to be awake in four hours."

She sat up quickly, looking incredulously from him to the clock on the wall, registering it was, indeed, four in the morning. "Aw, fuck!" She flopped back down indignantly.

* * *

When he woke up, Helga was sitting on the edge of the bed, on the phone. She had on plaid pjs and a tank top. Her hair was in a messy bun filled with glitter. "He's up," she told whoever she was talking to, "we'll be there soon." She turned back to him, face scrubbed cleaned of the makeup that was a mess a few hours ago, "we're all agreed on a jammie Christmas breakfast."

He wanted to talk to her then, about last night and exactly what the hell they were doing, because if he remembered correctly they nearly had sex, but discussion did not seem at all like Helga's style. So he obliged, and got up to get ready to check out. And almost asked her about last night three times...but managed to stop himself every time. Though he had so many thoughts about it, he felt ready to burst.

* * *

Pajama breakfast was well underway, as Gertie handed out gifts, including one for Helga, which was a homemade sock puppet. Helga cackled, and insisted the Gertie needed one, which she, of course, had already made. Arnold's parents and himself made prior arrangements to go skiing as a gift to each other as a family, so that had sort of ended giving gifts.

"Wait!" Helga dropped her fork so quickly. She pointed at Arnold with her sock-puppet free hand. "You owe me a picture."

He laughed then, rubbing a hand on his face. "Yeah, I suppose I do. Grandma, do you have any pictures of me when I was younger lying around?"

"In the hatch," Grandma told him, sipping on her orange juice as if that were a sensical answer. Arnold rolled his eyes, but with good nature, and pushed away from the table to go look for himself.

"Helga," Miles was leaning forward, "I feel like we have terrible manners, we don't even know where you're from. Were you born and raised in Portland?"

"Hah," Helga shoveled more eggs into her mouth. She wished that there was someone who actually made tiny hand sized shovels instead of forks. That sounded funnier to her. "No. I was born and raised on the west coast, small neighborhood in Brooklyn...called Hillwood."

Phil had dropped his fork, "no." He told her with astonishment.

"Wha-" She began to talk, but Arnold return with a photo frame in hand.

"Alright, here we go:" He set it out. On the right side was a photo of Arnold, beaming and very small in front of a brick wall. With a head the size of Saturn. On the left was a class photo.

Helga knocked over her cup.

"I...can't believe it," She looked up at Arnold with a new glint in her eye.

"What?" He looked down at the photo and laughed, "I mean, yes, my head was a little large, but I grew into it eventually..."

"The prophecy," Grandma suddenly started, holding her hands out and staring in between them, "it has been fufille-"

"Mom, oh my god…" Miles put a tired hand on his face, muttering under his breath.

"I used to pick on you," Helga told him, studying his face as if there could be any trace of the boy from her preschool and kindergarten class. "Mercilessly." She indicated herself in the photo on the left, refusing to smile for the camera. Her eyebrows furrowed, "where did you g..."

"You mean in preschool?" He looked down at the photo, alarmed himself, "I barely remember it. I barely remember anything before..." He looked to his parents. They stared in between each other.

"Before we made it out of there," His mom finished for him finally. "What a strange coincidence," she shook her head, looking at Helga and Arnold. "The three of us moved out west after we made it back to the U.S. Mom and dad followed us years later."

"Ha," Stiles, relatively unbothered by the entire thing, shoved half a roll into his mouth, "there's probably another world where you two grew up the best of friends. If that ain't fate working for ya-, well," He swallowed some water, "I don't know what is."

"This is not a conversation to have when I'm drungover," Helga sat back down, downing more orange juice as she did so. Arnold only wondered for a moment about whether or not drungover was an actual slang term or if Helga just made it up. "Let's talk novel, Gert. Did we decide Femme Fatal in space or Robot Crime investigator?" Arnold couldn't help but wonder, as he watched her seamlessly flow back into the conversation with his family, what his life would have looked like if he hadn't moved at all.

* * *

"How many hours is the ride back to Portland?" They were packed up now, hugs exchanged goodbye and Helga promising to call Grandma next week, and Arnold had no idea what they were supposed to do now or exactly what they were now.

"Three and a half, give or take." He answered, pulling back out of their driveway.

"Then commences," Helga shifted on to her side "my three and a half hour long nap."

"Helga, don't you want to talk abou-"

"Dragons?"

"No," he answered flatly.

"Then no."

He groaned as he turned out of the neighborhood, glancing over at the lump under the blanket. The highway entrance was right nearby, conveniently enough. He got on with ease. He didn't mean to keep watching her, but she made it hard not to.

"Ugh, Arnold, stop it with your eyes making that face, I hate that face." She sat up. "Look, we got drunk and made out and now your Grandparents likely think we're soul mates. I don't expect you to...be betrothed to me, or whatever. I understand that when we get back to Portland, you go back to being Arnold without a girlfriend and I go back to the Helga who smells like beer and hedgehogs."

"...what?" Arnold looked incredulously over at her. This was...not the conversation he thought they were having. And he had no idea where the hedgehog thing came from.

"You don't have to give me a reason, and we don't have to talk about it, especially when my head hurts like this. I already understand. I kissed you, you didn't want to have sex with me, it's whatever. It's fine."

"Helga, I didn't-" He tried to defend himself. He wasn't having sex with anyone who was drunk.

"No offense, Arnold," she looked out her window, raising the blanket around her shoulders. "But I really don't want to hear about why. Or hear anything, but silence, because right now, I just really want to sleep."

And because she was an infuriating storm of words who very rarely let him get a sentence in edgewise, he let her. He glanced down at her face quickly, and then made a sharp, hasty exit from the highway.

* * *

Three and a half hours later, he was shaking her shoulder.

"M- what."

"We're here." And they were. They were exactly where Arnold intended them to be, and nowhere near Portland at all.

Helga sat up quickly in her seat, taking in the sight around her.

Trees were illuminated in their kaleidoscope of fall colors, trees growing tall over their car and nothing but a dirt path in front of them. Helga stepped out, wrapped in her blanket, of the car carefully. The sky was filled with fluffy white clouds, despite the crisp November air, and the air smelled cleaner than city air was ever capable of. There was a large sign to her right reading Snoqualmine Falls, and the faint whisper of rushing water in the distance.  
Arnold's door opened, but he didn't climb fully out. He stepped up on the ledge, looking at her from over his car.

"What are we doing here?" She turned around, aware of her socks getting filthy in the actual dirt, not dirty city streets, under her feet.

"You told me last night that you wanted trees and waterfalls, so I brought you to some."

"...why?"

"Well," he looked up to the sky, as if he were actually considering an answer to her question. "You told me that once I got back to Portland I had to go back to being the Arnold without a girlfriend, so," He shrugged, "I suppose I was just trying to delay that as long as possible." He then smirked at her, as her eyes grew wider with understanding. As she remembered where she was actually standing, spinning around in another one of her odd little circles.

"You, and I-" she blinked at him, spluttering, looking up the path that would lead them to the falls, "and we're..."

She looked back at him quickly, and then, all at once, threw her blanket at him and cackled. "I'LL RACE YOU TO THE FALLS!" He heard her shouting from under the fleece, while he untangled himself.

"HELGA!" He called after the girl running up the path, "COME BACK HERE AND PUT ON A COAT...OR AT LEAST SOME SHOES, OH MY-" He stopped, for only a moment, to grab her backpack and sneakers from the car.

And then he, recklessly, and without his own coat, raced after her.

* * *

 _a/n_

 _this_

 _is schmoop in its purest form_

 _SCHMOOOP_

 _and its finished thank u for reading n let me know what you thought if u had fun or what not or idk what youd name ur hedgehog if u had one_

 _love, k. xx_


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